


Numbered Memories, Numbered Days

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Friendship, Gen, I still have a lot of feelings over Tamlen ok, Loss, Other, but if you want romance go for it, this isn't really romance, this was written as them being friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the writing challenge "write a countdown from ten to one" with the bonus number of zero. In other words, it's yet again another one of those numbered memories everyone in Dragon Age has probably written already with Tamlen and Mahariel in general.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Numbered Memories, Numbered Days

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this hurts your soul as much as it hurt mine when I was writing this, because I don't think I'm ever going to be okay with what happened to Tamlen and I've played the game three fucking times already.

Ten. Ten was the number of fish they caught on their first outing as hunters without any other duo around, the entire afternoon spent waiting by the banks of that river, passing laughter-filled glances and revelling in the simplicity that came with simply being as close as they.

Nine was the amount of times they’d argued seriously, ranging from who jumped farther when they were eleven to ones that left them both hurting for days, nursing wounds ripped open until they healed each other again, and things were as they should be.

Eight was how many arrows Tamlen had gone through when they were learning to make them at only age twelve, and Mahariel was laughing each time at the look on his face. To Tamlen’s credit, though, Mahariel broke double that.

Seven was the best estimate of how many nights they remembered in detail having stolen away from the campfires, to linger in the branches of trusted trees and allow the stars to hear their conversations about anything that came to mind, trusting in the greatness of the sky to keep it as it was.

Six was how many braids Mahariel had fit into Tamlen’s hair on the day before he received his vallaslin, yet another moment between them to soothe frayed nerves and brighten the dampness of the rain outside. 

Five was how many of their clanmates had quiet bets on whether or not they’d remain a hunting pair once they received their vallaslin, and the two that disagreed always pretended that whenever one of their names were called, it was always followed by the others’.

Four was how many rabbits were sent over a ravine, leading to faces trembling with unmasked laughter even as they bickered about who was to try and retrieve the arrow, since it was the third one this season. 

Four was also how many of their hahren that simply rolled their eyes at the two young hunters who tramped back into camp, covered in leaves and worn from the trip, but laughing all the same.

Three was how many hours it had taken, how many shemlen it had been, telling a tall tale of a cave filled with their people’s history, and how many times Mahariel had lost him; first to the mirror, then to the taint, and finally to their own blades.

Two was how many days Mahariel refused to leave with the Warden before they were left with no other option, refused to rest properly until they’d found a trail of Tamlen, claiming it was their right as both his clanmate and friend. Even Merrill lost hope after they were gone, and her searching gazes into the trees stopped as the clan moved on, mourning their losses of two fine hunters. Of two fine Dalish.

One was how many years it had been since he’d been gone, and Mahariel still found it hard to find peace in having helped their clan without Tamlen grinning alongside too, a full man of the Dalish, aged just as they and with more than just scars from their childhood to trace a story with.

Zero was Tamlen himself, not looking as he last had with blackened skin and hair all gone to rot; not as Mahariel had last seen him, but as they remembered him. Tamlen in all of his splendor, tripping over his feet trying to catch up and laugh, spluttering at being pulled into the water by many hands, laughing and teasing as he so often did. Zero was the amount of time it had taken for him to be tainted, an infinite moment in time in which all was still and calm, and it was almost like some peace could be found in the memories there. 

Zero was Tamlen, probably still waiting, telling Falon’Din he needed to wait, because the stubborn elf wouldn’t walk the full path of the dead until he had Mahariel there once again, and although Mahariel had no intentions of rushing towards that time, it was hard not to fight off a smile when they imagined the words Tamlen would have in store for a time such as that.


End file.
